Some Nights
by cornergoddess
Summary: House wakes Wilson up with a particularly bad pain flare. One-shot. House/Wilson (Hilson) established relationship. hurt/comfort, House!whump.


**A/N: Hey guys! This is just a one-shot. Still thinking about writing a story about House and ice baths. Tell me if you'd be interested in that!**

Wilson sighed contentedly as he settled in for the night. He had a good book and a warm body next to him. Everything felt right. He looked over at House's half-asleep form and smiled. When the man was asleep, he looked almost peaceful; nothing like the hard exterior he put on during the day. Careful not to wake him, he ran a hand through the graying hair that receded daily north.

It had been a hard day for both of them. Wilson had had to deal with the death of a long-time patient; a thirteen-year old girl previously in remission from AML. It had been emotional for both him and the family, and that kind of stuff took it out of a person. House, on the other hand, was stuck on a case and had seemed more irritable than usual. He had even skipped lunch even when Wilson had offered to buy, which had made the irritability worse. They both just needed some rest. After a chapter or so of his book, Wilson turned off the light and sunk into the bed.

In truth, it had been a harder day for House than Wilson thought. He didn't want to admit it, but the weather had been getting to his leg; making it cramp on and off throughout the day. He'd tried to alleviate it with pills and elevation, but nothing was helping. He had turned in early, hoping that in sleep the pain would recede. No such luck. Even in his dreams, the white-hot fire continued to plague his mind. He tossed and turned, leg following his body unconsciously. This didn't help either. Even though he was happy with Wilson, even though his life was going better than it ever had, he still wanted it to end if that meant it would take the pain with it.

Wilson awoke with a start. Not knowing what had disturbed him, he looked around. TV...couch...dresser...all there, all normal. Then he looked over at House. His partner was curled into a ball, moaning.

"House?" he whispered. It could be just a bad dream, which was a frequent occurrence with House, but somehow Wilson didn't think that was the case. He put a hand on House's shoulder and a finger on his carotid. His pulse was fast, and Wilson instantly knew what was wrong. Every so often, especially in the winter, House would get these attacks of pain that would incapacitate him and make him go pale and swear like a sailor. Wilson put it all together then; the loss of appetite, irritability...of course he wouldn't say anything. That was just how he was.

Wilson sat there for a moment, debating what to do. He gently shook House's shoulder, which was suddenly thinner than he remembered it being. House whimpered.

"Hey, buddy...wake up. You need to take your pills."

Blue eyes shot open, clouded with tears. His thin body started to shake.

Wilson deftly grabbed the pill bottle from the bedside table and shook two into his hand. "You need to take this."

There was no answer. The man wasn't really looking at him; more like looking through him. Wilson held his hand and squeezed slightly, trying to ground him.

"You need to take your pills. You're just having a flare. It's probably all the rain we've been getting. It's OK. Pills will help."

House screamed. It didn't sound human. His white-knuckled hand grabbed onto Wilson's arm as his leg tightened into a rock-hard center of pain.

"It's OK…" Wilson soothed. This was a particularly bad one. Usually, when this happened the only thing on House's mind was his pills. Tonight, Wilson couldn't see that there was anything on his mind other than panic and pain.

"Look, deep breaths...in and out…" Wilson urged, demonstrating. House wasn't listening. He screamed again and his grip tightened on Wilson's arm.

"Okay, alright. Let me take a look. I think I need to."

Carefully, Wilson lifted the blanket and tugged down House's sweatpants. The second he touched the leg, House's hand shot out and slapped his.

"Ow! House!" Wilson drew his hand closer to his body for a moment.

"I need to look at your leg, OK? Please don't slap me again."

Slowly, softly, Wilson set a hand on House's leg, watching his face. His eyes squeezed shut and he screamed in agony.

"Sorry...just need to look...I'll be quick." Wilson ran his fingers lightly down the damaged muscles. The thigh was cramped the worst he'd seen it. Wilson didn't think he could do anything about this.

"I'm calling an ambulance, House. I'm sorry, but I don't think I can help."

House screamed again, hands squeezing into fists. Wilson took one of them and gently unwrapped the long fingers, placing them so they intertwined in his own hand.

"Squeeze," he ordered as he dialed the phone. House did, and Wilson winced as the nails dug into his skin.

"This is Dr. James Wilson. I need an ambulance at apartment 22B Baker Street. My boyfriend is having a pain flare and I can't get him to take anything by mouth...yes, his pulse is fast...previous injury to the right thigh with lingering surgical pain for about ten years…"

House screamed again, rolling onto his left side in order to get weight off his bad leg. Wilson squeezed his hand lightly, hanging up the phone. With his free hand, he rubbed House's back.

"It's OK...you're OK...ambulance is coming…"

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Wilson untangled his hand and unlocked the door, letting the paramedics in with a stretcher. He led them to the bedroom where House was now screaming uncontrollably. Without hesitation, the paramedics lifted House onto the stretcher, strapping him on.

"Careful!" Wilson yelled as they strapped over his leg. House screeched. His eyes rolled back into his head and he was silent.

"Shit!" Wilson rushed alongside the stretcher and was ushered into the ambulance. One of the paramedics checked House's vitals and hooked him up to an EKG while Wilson held his hand and panicked.

House was lifted onto the stretcher, still passed out.

"Can you get Dr. Cameron?" Wilson asked a passing nurse. If someone had to see House's leg, it may as well be someone he sort of trusted. The nurse nodded, recognizing Wilson.

"He's been having this pain for how long?" another nurse asked.

"Well, it's chronic due to a botched surgery, but acutely I think he's been having it all day today."

The nurse nodded. The paramedics had already cut into House's jeans and Cameron was checking out his leg. Wilson knew House would hate it, but it was necessary. Wilson watched as a needle plunged into the muscles.

"Relaxants," the nurse explained. Wilson nodded.

"We're going to admit him for an MRI, but most likely it was just a muscle cramp. He gets them when it's raining a lot, right?" Cameron asked. Wilson nodded. They were already wheeling House to a room.

"I'm also going to get him on IV morphine. He'll like that." Cameron smiled a little.

Wilson must have looked panicky, because Cameron added. "He's going to be fine. There's no evidence of further deterioration or damage. He didn't fall, did he?"

Wilson shook his head. "I would have heard."

"Okay, then the MRI is just a formality. Don't be concerned. I'm not."

"Okay…"

House stirred. His body felt light but his head felt heavy. The air felt different too. He opened his eyes and saw white. He groaned and closed his eyes.

"House? You up?"

"Mmhm…"

"What happened?"

"Weather…'ma be fine. Stop making that face."

"Your eyes aren't even open…"

"I know the face anyway. Your eyebrows are all scrunched and your lips are pouty. Stop it. I'm fine."

Wilson smiled. At least House was in good spirits and didn't want to kill him for calling an ambulance. He surmised that the morphine was helping with that.

"So am I dying, doc?"

"No. Just a cramp they think. A bad cramp. Cameron said she may be able to prescribe some relaxants to help."

House nodded, opening his eyes a little. "Did I hurt your arm…?"

Wilson put a hand over the bruises already forming on his forearm. "I'm fine. You just grabbed onto it. It was instinct."

"Sorry…"

Wilson chuckled. "Sorry? How much morphine are you on?"

"Hey! I can say sorry."

"You can, but you don't."

"That's true...I don't. But you say it too much. We even each other out."

"Yeah. I guess we do, huh?"

House smirked and closed his eyes again. Before long, he was asleep again.


End file.
